A Street With No End
by ExquisiteEdward
Summary: One night, Dr. Cullen's life becomes painfully entangled with a woman whose world he alters forever. What lengths will he go to in search of redemption? Or can the redemption he so desperately seeks be found within himself? AH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's the first chappie of one of the new stories I've been working on. I am **_**so **_**excited about this thing. I was going to try to wait and post this after I got the "Color of Loneliness" epilogues done, but I just couldn't wait. Hehe. This is way different than anything I've ever written before. I'm really trying to stretch myself as a writer. ;)**

**I have my amazing girlies to thank: my beta, LifeInkognito, and my pre-readers gjficfan, Lfcpam, and Firedancer07. I love you all so much.**

**SM owns Twlight.**

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_**A STREET WITH NO END**_

_**CHAPTER 1**_

**EPOV**

Another yawn.

And another.

My teeth clamp down on the inside of my mouth to try to stifle the next one. But I yawn anyway. I try to discreetly hide it behind the back of my hand, but my watering eyes give me away. Frowning, I blink harshly several times, straining to read the chart I'm holding. But all I see is a swirling blur of black and white smudges.

I swallow and grimace, distracted by the scratchy feel in my throat. It's bothersome. I know that feeling. I'm coming down with something. And I can't afford to get sick right now. I just can't.

"Dr. Cullen, you look completely exhausted." I set the chart down and rub the moisture from my bleary eyes. I squint as I strain to stare across the desk at Maggie. Her brows are pinched, worry etched on her wrinkled face as she peers at me from atop her black-rimmed glasses.

My face relaxes. "I'm fine," I say with a practiced smile and a quick nod. I turn my attention back to the chart and am relieved to see that words are now visible. Glancing over the man's vitals and symptoms, I pick up the folder and begin walking down the hallway. I glance at my watch and do a quick calculation. I've been at the hospital for 35 hours and 45 minutes. And this is my last patient. Only fifteen more minutes. Just a few more minutes, and I can get the hell out of here and go home and get some very much needed sleep.

I tap softly on the door with the back of my hand as my eyes drift down to the name on the chart in my hands. "Mr. Banner?" I call out as I open the door.

"That's me." I smile as I approach the bed. He's a frail-looking gentleman, 79-years-old and has been admitted for abdominal pain.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Cullen," I say as I reach my hand out to him. There's a gray-haired woman sitting next to him. I shake hands with her as well; she introduces herself as his daughter.

"So, you're having some stomach pain?" I ask. "Can you show me where it hurts?"

He points to the center of his stomach and says it also hurts below it. I ask him if he's had vomiting and diarrhea, and he confirms that he's had both. As I begin the examination, I ask if he has any hobbies. His small eyes almost disappear when his lined face splits into a toothy grin, and he begins telling me all about his love of playing gin rummy. I smile and listen intently as I lift his gown. His stomach is distended. And he shows signs of acute pain and tenderness upon touch. More than likely he has a bowel obstruction, which will probably require surgery. But we'll have to run some tests in order to confirm it.

I scribble my observations on his chart. "Mr. Banner? We're going to need to do a few tests to see what is causing your pain, okay? And hopefully we'll get you all fixed up so you can go back home and beat your friends at rummy again. How's that sound?"

There's a spark in his tired gray eyes as he winks and nods. "I like beating Wilson the most. That man owes me fifty dollars."

I chuckle. "Well, we need to get you better as quickly as possible so you can go collect that money."

"That's right. I like you, young man. You seem like a good doctor."

"Thank you." I flash him a smile. "Well, I'm getting ready to leave because my shift is ending," I say as he frowns and both he and his daughter voice their disappointment. "I will be back in a few days. But let's just hope you're out of here before then. I'll go ahead and put the order in for the tests that you need to have done. And I promise the next doctor on call will take very good care of you, okay?"

He nods and smiles just before his face contorts as a wave of pain washes over him.

My legs are stiff as I make my way back to the nurse's station and write up the order for the tests. There's a dull ache in my joints. I have to rub my eyes twice in order to see well enough to finish up my paperwork.

"Good night, Maggie," I murmur quietly. "See you in a few days."

"You get some rest, Dr. Cullen, you hear me? You don't look so well."

"I will. I promise that the only plans I have for the next several days is sleep."

"Good. And you tell that beautiful fiancée of yours that I said hello."

"I sure will," I agree with a half-smile.

It takes me another fifteen minutes to get to my locker because I'm stopped by other nurses and doctors along the way with small talk and such. I plaster a fake smile on my face and am cordial although my thoughts are solely focused on getting home.

The walk to my car is slow. I want to race to get there, but my legs feel heavy. I can't remember a time that I've felt this much exhaustion. It's probably from a combination of not sleeping for the last three days and coming down with this cold or flu that I can feel trying to take hold.

I shiver, pulling my coat closer as a strong gust of biting nighttime Chicago air slices through me. My skin prickles as the wind whips and lifts my hair, blowing icy cold air through it. I wish for my hat and gloves.

Once seated in my Volvo, I blow out a heavy breath. I watch it spin a white color before it vanishes in the chill of my car. My head falls back against the headrest, and I close my eyes. Even my neck aches. For a moment, I consider crawling into the backseat to take a quick nap but decide against it when I begin to shiver again. I just want to get home to my soft bed that's covered in insanely expensive sheets. Sheets that my fiancée had insisted upon.

Cupping my hands together, I blow into them before I flip the heat on high. The clock on my dash reads 12:30 a.m. I should be home and in my warm bed no later than 1:00. Sighing, I hold tight to that thought. Just a little bit longer…

As I drive, the car begins to warm. I feel the heat around me like a blanket that's been pulled out of a hot dryer. Every muscle in my worn, exhausted body relaxes. My eyelids feel heavy. So heavy.

I watch the lines on the pavement. Each line whipping past in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Lulling me. Pulling me under. Deeper…

My eyes snap open, my heart pounds. I must have dozed off. I'm not sure how long. Although it must have only been a few seconds. But that's all it takes… just a few seconds.

Scrubbing my hand across my eyes, I straighten in my seat and switch off the heat. I roll the window down about two inches, letting in the chilled Chicago air, knowing that will help keep me alert.

Silent, tiny droplets of rain begin to spray across my windshield. I don't turn on the wipers right away. Instead, I watch as the water collects and makes streaky kaleidoscope-like patterns as the wind pushes and pulls the beads across the window.

As I exit the highway, I drag in a deep breath. I'm about half-way home. There's not much traffic out this late at night. For a while, I watch the taillights in the distance until my gaze is pulled back to those lines on the pavement again. Line. After line. After line. After line. So hypnotic. My body feels weighted. I am so tired. So very, very tired…

My ears are pierced by a deafening crack of thunderous sound. Like metal being smashed instantaneously in a compactor. My body is violently jerked and tossed about. And then silence. I feel disoriented. And there's pain. A throbbing sensation. Intense. Not like the body aches I had earlier. Much sharper. I feel it radiating down my chest. And across my stomach. I find it difficult to breathe. Someone shouts. I hear several voices. They're fearful and panicked.

_Where am I?_

My eyes are still closed. I know my body is not moving, but I feel the sensation that I'm still in motion. My head spins. An odd odor hits me. Something stale. Like a dusty chemical. It reminds me of the latex gloves at work.

Keeping my eyes shut, I blink several times before I finally open them. All I see is a white mass that appears to be deflating.

"Oh my god. Sir? Are you okay?" I hear a woman's trembling voice ask to my left.

I groan as I turn towards the voice. "Are you hurt?" she continues to question me. She has what I can only assume is the side air bag – since I've never seen one before - pushed up and is peering at me through the window. I find it odd that the glass is gone. There's a strange warm sensation on my forehead. I reach my hand up to touch it, and frown when I see blood on my hand. There's been an accident. I've been in an accident.

My tongue darts out to wet my chalky lips as I begin to move. I now realize that the pain in my chest and abdomen is from the seatbelt. I'm going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but I don't seem to have any significant injuries that I can sense.

I clear my sore throat. "No, I'm okay." My voice sounds off. Shaky.

A man comes up beside the woman and tugs on the door. He pulls and pulls, grunting hard until he finally yanks it open. The woman begins speaking again. "Just stay where you are. It's probably not safe for you to move yet. I called an ambulance."

I ignore her, push on the airbag and unbuckle my seatbelt. As I try to stand, everything around me spins. Someone grasps my arm. "Here. Let me help," the man says as he holds onto me. I grip the door tightly with both hands until the spinning lessens, and I feel steady on my feet.

I stare down at my white knuckles for a moment before something in my peripheral vision distracts me. My eyes stay ground-level and slide slowly to the right. I gasp. The sleek, smooth silver lines of the front of my Volvo have vanished. All that remains is a tangled mass of unrecognizable crushed metal. I freeze, unable to move. Unable to breathe. Fear ferments deep in my stomach, delivering a sickening sensation. I swallow harshly.

Ahead of me and slightly to my left, I hear crying and some type of commotion. My gaze follows the sounds. My breath becomes shallow as my eyes absorb the scene before me. An ancient red pick-up truck sits about fifty feet away, flipped over, resting on its roof. The driver's side faces me. I can clearly see the outline of a person hanging upside down still in a seatbelt. There are people standing around the truck, holding each other and sobbing.

I begin to heave huge amounts of frigid air into my lungs as my heart begins to pound at an alarming pace. _Adrenaline_. I can feel it surging through my body. Stimulating my heart rate, contracting my blood vessels, dilating my air passages. Immediately, my feet carry me forward. Until I'm jogging directly towards the truck.

Shards of broken glass litter the dark pavement. The shattered pieces make strange crunching sounds beneath my shoes. I drop to my knees and stick my head inside to assess the situation. Every instinct I have as a doctor kicks in. My training takes over. Propels me. A woman with a slight build hangs upside down in the driver's seat. I have to lean down to feel for her pulse. She has one but it's very weak. She's covered in superficial lacerations with one large cut in her scalp along the hairline. But it's her breathing that frightens me the most. I recognize those sounds. I have to get this woman out and fast.

My eyes move swiftly to the passenger seat. A young man hangs beside her, his face covered in blood. But I recognize his facial structure. He has Down's Syndrome. The impact must have been on his side because the door is caved in on him. I quickly climb over the woman and reach down to feel for his pulse.

There's nothing.

No pulse.

He's dead.

A clawing fear so frightening, so beyond anything that I ever thought possible coils itself tight in my stomach, lifting its blackened fingers upwards to clench around my heart. Its grasp is so tight that it expels all of the breath from my body.

My heartbeat roars in my ears, my breath bursts in and out of my lungs. I tell myself this reaction is premature. I don't even know how the accident happened. I may not be at fault. But something nags at me. Something inexplicable. I just know. I feel it deep in the core of my being. I know I am the cause of this.

I fight against the overwhelming sensations that threaten to consume me. I will give in to it later. And let it devour me. But not now. My breath is ragged as I pull in icy lungfuls of air. Ever so swiftly, I turn my attention back to the woman. I have to get her out of this truck immediately, or she's going to die before the paramedics get here.

A man's head appears beside me. "I think we should leave her," he says. "They say not to move people because of back injuries and stuff."

"I'm a doctor."

"Oh," he says in surprise. "Okay."

"I need your help," I tell him. I scoot over so he can crawl in beside me. "I need you to hold her neck still. I'm going to release the seatbelt. We have to get her out. Right now."

I grab his hands and position them. "Hold her," I say as I wedge my shoulders against her lap, which is above me since she's upside down. I wrap my other arm around her back. Then I release the seatbelt slowly as her weight falls onto my shoulders. She barely weighs anything.

"Okay. Keep your hands steady on her neck," I say as we carefully ease her out of the truck and lay her flat on the freezing damp pavement.

"I need a straw or an ink pen, and a knife and a lighter," I shout to the crowd that has gathered around. "_Now!_"

My right eye begins stinging, blurring my vision. It's blood. I ignore it. I jerk my coat off and lay it on top of her and within moments, the crowd has produced what I asked for. I unzip her coat and unbutton her shirt to expose her neck. I frown, my heart skipping a full beat when I see a fragile heart pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. I swallow hard as I reach out and tug slightly on it so that I can lay it on her chest. I flip open the knife as I quickly use the lighter to sterilize the tip. I cut into her trachea, making a small incision before I slip the straw into the cut I've made. My shoulders sag slightly in relief when I see the woman begin to get air into her lungs. I smooth her long dark hair, damp with blood, away from her face and look at her for the first time.

There are cuts and abrasions scattered across her incredibly pale, almost translucent skin. I can see where some bruising is beginning to develop as well. But underneath all of that, I notice that her features are quite delicate in her heart-shaped face. Small petite nose with thick dark lashes lying against alabaster skin. She's beautiful.

The sound of sirens fills my ears. I look up and the paramedics have arrived. They immediately take over and within minutes have the woman loaded into the back of an ambulance. I stand on the street unmoving, my eyes transfixed on the taillights. There's so much going on around me. Absolute chaos. But it's as if it isn't real. I'm disconnected. I feel like a statue in the center of a city as the world is speedily bustling around me. Or like I'm all alone on a dark street. A street with no end.

But then my body begins to tremble. The movement stirs from deep within me causing my teeth to chatter. It's as though there's an earthquake rumbling just below the soles of my shoes. Someone wraps a blanket around my shoulders. "Dr. Cullen?" a person asks. Frowning, I look towards the voice. I recognize the face; he's an EMT from the hospital. "Come over here and sit down," he says. I do as he instructs. I sit.

"We should get you to the hospital," he says just as another ambulance arrives on the scene.

I don't argue. It's imperative that I get to the hospital. Not for me. But for that woman. That woman whose hauntingly pale, lovely face is all I can see. It's embedded there. Branded. As if it were seared with a hot iron. Because what if…? What if she…? A suffocating sensation tightens my chest as those agonizing unfinished thoughts impale me. I begin gasping for air.

My body continues to quake uncontrollably as someone helps me onto a gurney. My head rolls slowly to the side, my eyes resting on the mangled red truck. Several firemen are placing blankets over the windows. But I know what is hidden beneath. I know what I've done.

I'm lifted into the ambulance, and there's a flurry of activity as the EMTs begin taking my vitals. My thoughts begin to venture down darkened avenues I don't want them to. The fear that I've been working so desperately to keep tampered down comes barreling towards me.

Oh god, what have I done?

Did someone…? Did someone… _die_… tonight because of me?

A flash of that young man's innocent bloodied face stabs me forcefully in the chest, ripping the very breath from my body.

I can scarcely breathe as the truth begins to bloom deep within me, its petal's edges charred ashen black.

That boy is dead because of me.

Somehow I know.

I am a murderer.

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**A/N: This story has been haunting my thoughts. What do you think? Are you intrigued? Do you want more? ;))))**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I can't get this story out of my head so here's another installment. ;)) And for you lovers of CoL, my goal is to get that first epi done by this weekend. ;)))**

**I have so many to thank: my fantabulous beta, LifeInkognito, who returned this in record time even though her laptop died in a coffee-dousing incident through no fault of her own. And to my pre-readers: gjficfan, Lfcpam, Firedancer07, and Micki Martini. I love you chicks to no end.**

**SM owns Twilight.**

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_**A STREET WITH NO END**_

_**CHAPTER 2**_

**EPOV**

"Edward?"

I hear the familiar voice, but for some reason, I don't acknowledge it.

"Edward." I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Yes?" I finally answer. My voice is hoarse.

I look up into Dr. Whitlock's concerned face. Jasper is one of my closest confidants at the hospital. "Are you okay? I really think you should have a CAT scan done," he says.

"No. No, I'm good." My gaze immediately drops back down to my lap. To the splattering of dried blood that stains the long sleeves of my white shirt.

Whose blood do I wear?

He sighs. "I don't agree with you, but it's your choice." I hear the snap of his surgical gloves as he tugs them off. "Six stitches in your forehead. It'll barely be noticeable."

"Thanks."

"You're running a fever, though," he states, raising an eyebrow.

I swallow and the searing pain in my throat is so intense that I'm unable to hide my grimace. He chuckles as he turns around, reaches for a glove, and wraps it around the end of a tongue depressor. "Open wide," he says in a childish voice.

Normally, I would roll my eyes. Instead, I simply open my mouth. "Jesus. Looks like it could be strep. I'll order a Rapid Strep Test."

My throat hurts so badly that I don't find this news the least bit surprising.

He tosses the glove and tongue depressor in the trash then crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against the counter. "So. What happened?" he asks. "Do you remember anything about the accident?"

I shake my head slightly. I remember a lot of things. Things I don't want to remember. But most of all, I remember that woman's face. It's there. Constantly. Causing a dull ache in my chest.

Even though Jasper is one of my closest friends, I'm incapable of talking about it right now. I'll eventually tell him everything. When I'm able to. But not now.

I shift in my chair, trying not to let the pain I feel from the impact of the seatbelt show on my face. My whole body is beginning to feel sore. "The woman. The one that was in the truck. Do you know where she is?"

"Yeah. She's in surgery. You know you saved her life, right?"

I know this so I nod. She would have died if I hadn't done what I did. "Do you know the extent of her injuries yet?"

"No. Not yet." Jasper reaches for a rolling chair and drops onto it, rolling up directly in front of me. He rests his elbows on his knees as he stares at me for a minute. "I know there was a fatality. You sure you don't want to talk?"

My eyes stay on his for a moment before I draw in a deep breath. The movement causes the muscles across my abdomen to burn and constrict. "Not right now." My brows pull together. "I just need to think about some things first. I haven't quite figured it all out in my head yet. But I will. Talk. When I'm ready."

He nods. "All right. I'm here any time you need me, okay?"

"Thanks," I say. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly before he rolls the chair back into place.

"Want me to go see if I can get an update on her?"

I nod as I lick my lips. I have to know. I just have to.

He gives me a quick nod in return as he reaches for the doorknob. "Have you called your parents yet? Or Rose?" he asks.

I shake my head slightly as I tug my phone out of my pocket. "You better call Rose first," he tells me with a cocked eyebrow. He knows my fiancée too well. "I'll go see what I can find out," he continues. "And I'll be back with that strep test. And some scrubs," he adds, his eyes glancing downwards for a second. He exits the room as I dial Rose's cell.

I know I'm going to wake her; she has to work in the morning. As I wait for her to answer, my eyes slip to the blood stains again. I can't help but contemplate whose blood it is. Or… is it a mixture? I click 'end' and drop my phone as I lunge for the trash can where I empty the contents of my stomach. With my heart in my throat, I tug the shirt off as quickly as I can and scrub my hands and face with soap in the wash basin. I'm rinsing my mouth out with water when my phone rings.

I hastily answer it. "Rose?"

"Edward?" she answers in a confused, sleepy voice. "Did you just call?"

"Yeah," I say softly. "Sorry to wake you."

She clears her throat. "That's okay. What time is it? Aren't you supposed to be home?"

"Yeah, um, I'm at the hospital-"

"What? You told me you were coming home tonight. You've been there for three days, Edward. _Three days_. They can't make you stay." Her voice is livid. Angry. But then it softens. "I want you to come home. Now. I miss you. The bed is cold without you in it."

I should have organized my thoughts better before I rushed to call her. "No, I didn't mean that I'm here still working. I meant that…" I pause, frowning, trying to word it in a way so as to not panic her. "Everything is fine, all right? I don't want you to get upset, but I-"

"Edward? What's going on? You're scaring the hell out of me right now."

"There's nothing to be scared about. There was an accident tonight. On my way home, but I'm okay. I'm perfectly fine-"

"An accident?" I hear fear vibrating in her voice. Her breathing begins to increase. "Did they admit you? How bad are you hurt? Oh my god."

"Rose. Calm down. I told you I was fine. I'm not hurt. And they didn't admit me."

"You're not hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine."

"Oh god, Edward. My heart is pounding so hard right now. If anything happened to you…"

"I know, sweetheart. I feel the same about you. But everything's okay."

"Okay," she repeats. I hear her inhale a deep breath. "Okay," she says again. I know she's just trying to collect herself. "Do you need me to come get you? Can you drive your car or, how bad was it? Did someone hit you? What happened?"

A collage of pain-inducing images assaults me. My eyes clench tight against them, my shoulders curling inward as I try to force them out of my mind. But my efforts are useless. It's as though someone is repeatedly hitting the button on an old overhead projector as I see image after image in my head. Glittering fragments of glass scattered across a darkened pavement. An overturned, twisted ancient red truck. The mangled, crushed remains of my totaled Volvo. And the images that cause the most anguish: that young boy's bloodied face. And the unforgettable, pale face of that beautiful woman.

It's hard to breath. I rub my bare chest. It hurts to touch it. And does nothing to make the pain go away. The pain is deeper. Inside of me. In my innermost self. A spot that can't be touched physically.

I can't reveal the extent of the accident to Rose just yet. Because it would terrify her. And I'm not ready to face it yet myself. I clear my pained throat. "I'm not going to be able to drive it. But there was another vehicle involved. I'm going to stay here to make sure the other person is all right. I'll catch a ride home with Jasper or something."

"I can't let you stay there by yourself. You were just in an accident, Edward, I'm going to-"

"But you have work tomorrow."

"Fuck that. You're more important than work. I'll get dressed and be there in a little while."

I sigh. There's no arguing with her. "All right."

"I love you," she breathes, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I love you too," I respond softly before I hang up.

As I debate whether to call my parents or not, there's a light tapping on the door. "Come in," I call out.

Jasper steps inside. As he hands me the scrubs, he looks down at my chest. "That's gonna hurt tomorrow," he remarks. I don't have to look at it to know. I feel it.

I quickly throw on the scrubs.

He sets the strep test down and pulls the rolling chair over again. He leans his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands in front of him. His face is grim. My stomach drops. I know the news he is about to deliver is not good.

My mouth feels dry. Parched. I swallow and my face scrunches up from the pain. But I keep my eyes glued to his face, watching his every nuance. My heart pounds so forcefully it's almost painful.

He clears his throat. "Well, she's in pretty bad shape. She has a ruptured spleen so they're working on removing that right now. She has multiple fractures: ribs, femur, wrist, but…" He pauses, and it's as if his face pales right before my very eyes. His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

I have the overwhelming sensation to empty the contents of my stomach again even though there's nothing left. I know where this conversation is headed. "The cut? On her head…?" I prompt.

His lips thin as he nods once in confirmation. He doesn't have to say a word. Because I know.

_TBI._

_Traumatic Brain Injury._

I've seen it dozens of times.

"Have they classified her yet?"

He nods. "Moderate."

"What was her GCS?"

"Ten."

My heart sinks. She just barely made it into the moderate classification. An eight classifies as a severe brain injury. With a moderate brain injury her chances of having a permanent life-altering disability increases to well over 50%.

That lovely woman could be a vegetable for the rest of her life because of me. I bend over, gasping for air.

Jasper grabs my shoulders. "Deep breaths," he says in a soothing voice. "Calm down, Edward. You know it's too early to make assumptions. Every person is different. We just have to be patient and see what happens."

I'm having a full-blown panic attack. Even though I'm panting, it's like I can't get any breath into my lungs. I've never felt like this before. Ever.

"Come on, Edward. Deep breaths, do you hear me? Slow your breathing down."

I focus every ounce of my energy solely on my breathing. Slow breath in. Slow breath out. Slower. Slower. Gradually, my racing heartbeat begins to slow, and my breathing returns to almost normal.

I look up at Jasper. He's watching me carefully. I run my hands roughly over my face. "I, I might have… fallen asleep…" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Jesus Christ, Edward," Jasper mumbles. He stands and begins pacing in the small examining room, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why didn't you just stay here and get some sleep?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to get home. I was exhausted, didn't feel well. I just wanted to go home."

"Fuck. This isn't good. Shit, you could get charged for this. You could go to jail." He stops pacing and stares at me, his eyes wide. He looks as stunned by that statement as I feel. I hadn't even thought of that. I'd been so wrapped up in my fear over that woman's fate that I'd not even given a thought to the other ramifications. I could go to jail.

I could go to jail.

Those five words play on repeat in my head. I expect to feel fear and abject terror. But I don't. I feel a strange calmness. A sense of peace. Because if I am responsible for that death of that boy and for the - I have to clutch at my stomach as a wave of nausea hits me - the injuries to that woman, then I deserve to be put in jail. I will gladly pay for my sins.

"The family could sue you. Take every damn dime you have."

I would give it willingly. Money could never repay what I've done. Because how can it compare to the worth of a person's life? It can't. But if it could help ease some of the burden on the family, I would do all that I could. Without a fight.

"You need to call your attorney. And the police are out in the hallway wanting to take your statement. I told them they'd have to wait until I was done treating you."

I nod my thanks to him. I'm grateful to have a friend like Jasper. But I will not be calling my attorney. I will face this on my own.

Jasper does the strep test and it comes back positive. As he's writing me a script for antibiotics, I get a text from Rose.

_**I'm here. What room r u in? –R**_

I quickly text her the room number. Then I pick up the bloody shirt and shove it in a bag that Jasper brought in. I'll figure out what to do with it later when I'm more coherent.

Within minutes, she knocks on the door.

I startle at Jasper's voice. I'd forgotten he was in the room. "Anything you need, I'm here for you," he says. "Got it?"

I try to muster a smile but can't. So I just nod. He claps me on the shoulder, squeezing it, before he opens the door.

Rose's face is pale, her blue eyes wide and frightened as she rushes past Jasper and throws her arms around my neck. I grunt and grimace at the impact on my sore body.

"Oh, no, did I hurt you, baby?" she asks as she pulls back and stares up into my eyes. She touches the bandage on my forehead and runs her fingers lightly over my face. Her hands go back behind my head, and I know what she's about to do as she tugs me down towards her. I reach my hand up and touch her lips.

"I've got strep," I say, warning her.

"Strep? As in strep throat?" I nod. "You poor baby. Let's get you home, and I'll take care of you."

I look behind her and see that Jasper has left. "I need to talk to the police before we leave. They want to take my statement."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. I need to do this on my own. Maggie's here. Why don't you go sit with her until I get done?"

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "Yeah. I won't be long."

She searches my eyes for a moment with hers before she touches my cheek softly and leaves the room. I inhale a deep slow breath before I grab the bag and follow her. I see two police officers standing in the hallway talking to each other. I approach them.

"I'm Edward Cullen. Dr. Whitlock told me you wanted to talk to me?"

They acknowledge me and I take them into an empty office. We sit down, and they immediately begin firing off question after question at me…

_Why were you on that particular road?_

_How long were you at the hospital?_

_How fast were you driving?_

_Have you been drinking?_

_Explain to us in your own words how the accident happened._

I swallow and it feels like I just swallowed a handful of razor blades. My hand nervously runs over my upper lip, wiping away imaginary perspiration. I'm actually shivering slightly because of the fever I have.

"I don't remember exactly what happened. I remember watching some taillights in the distance and watching the lines on the pavement… And the next thing I remember is the impact. I'm not sure…" I pause and clear my throat. "I may have fallen asleep. I don't know for sure because I can't remember."

"That's understandable," one of the officers says. "You do have a bump on your head. Don't worry about it. There'll be an investigation. An Accident Investigator will be assigned the case and will piece together what happened. He or she will be in contact with you."

I nod.

"Just a warning. They're pretty backed up with cases so don't be surprised if it takes months for them to get this thing resolved. But they will get it done."

_Months? I'm going to have to wait months to know whether or not I've murdered someone?_

The policemen do a sobriety test, which I pass with flying colors, and we finish up. I make my way to the nurse's station. Maggie and Rose are deep in conversation. I hear Rose's voice, "… gowns are a deep burnt orange. They're gorgeous. And they're going to carry white orchids."

Anger burns savagely through my veins. How dare she talk about something so trivial as gowns and flowers when a boy died tonight. And when that woman lies battered and broken in this hospital right now. But then it hits me. Rose doesn't know a single thing about what happened. What's happened to me. What happened to them.

Rose stops talking and smiles happily when she sees me.

"Hey," I say quietly to her then turn my gaze to Maggie. "Can I talk to you for a minute about a patient?" I ask.

"Sure," she says as she makes her way around the desk towards me.

"I'll be back in a few, okay?" I say to Rose. She smiles and nods.

I walk down to an unoccupied room and open the door for Maggie. We step inside. I turn to her. "The woman that was in the accident, has her family been contacted yet?"

"No. Her phone is password protected so we couldn't get any contact info from it. And all she had on her was her wallet. The police went to her address, but no one was home. So we're just waiting until someone calls her cell phone."

I nod. "Do we know anything about the… boy… that was with her?"

"No. He didn't have any identification on him."

"Can you call me as soon as you know something?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

"Rose doesn't know how bad the accident was, does she?" Maggie asks.

I shake my head.

"I figured as much. How're you feeling? You okay? You've had one hell of a night."

"I'm okay." She slowly raises one eyebrow as she stares up at me with her wise eyes.

I bite the inside of my jaw and shrug a shoulder at her.

"Go home with Rose and get some rest," she says as she touches my arm.

"Can you keep me updated on the woman?"

"Now you know she's not your patient, and with HIPAA law, I can't-"

_Fuck HIPAA laws._

"Just in general. _Please?_"

A look of resignation crosses her face. She sighs as she closes her eyes and nods.

"Thank you," I breathe back.

We walk back to where Rose awaits us. She stands and links her arm through mine. We say our goodbyes to Maggie and stop by the pharmacy in the hospital to pick up my prescriptions.

"Where's your coat?" Rose asks.

Bile stirs deep in my stomach as a flash of that woman on the pavement with my coat draped over her crashes into me. "I forgot it," I lie. I never want to see that coat again.

"But it's freezing outside. Shouldn't we go back-"

"No." My tone is much harsher than I intend as I tug her forward. The doors of the hospital open, blasting us hard with a wave of freezing air. Rose shrieks and buries her face in my shoulder. I spot her BMW immediately and am thankful for its bright red color for once. We half-jog to it. I quickly open the door for her. When I get around to my side, I frown when I look down at the door handle and my heart starts beating faster. I'm confused by my reaction. I'm freezing, shivering. I should be flinging the door open and jumping inside. But as I reach my hand out towards it, my breathing accelerates. When my fingers finally touch the cold metal, I gulp, grimacing against the needles of pain in my throat.

Rose gives me an odd look when I finally get into the car. "You okay, baby?" she asks. My eyes meet hers for a second as I nod. I slump against the window, shaking uncontrollably. My pulse still pounds way too fast and my breath puffs roughly in and out of my lungs. The heated air that leaves my lips paints frosted clouds on the window. I pull back, laying my head against the headrest and watch as the defrost begins to eat away hungrily at the frosted swirls.

Rose slips her fingers through mine. The warmth of her skin feels good against me. The silence is soothing.

Once home, I walk slowly to my bedroom. Rose asks me mundane questions: _Do I want some soup? Something hot to drink to warm me up? _

I only want to do one thing.

Take a shower. A hot scalding shower to wash away the night. The blood. The guilt.

Once I'm behind the closed door of my bathroom and have removed my clothes, I pull out the tainted shirt from the bag, staring at the blood splatter as I rub the material between my fingers. I look up and gasp as I catch my reflection in the mirror. There's a massive black and blue bruise running from the top of my shoulder, across my breastbone and down across my abdomen. I've seen this in the hospital many times before, but seeing it on my own skin is shocking. My fingers ghost across it.

I fold the shirt up reverently and lay it on the counter. I don't know what to do with it. Burn it? Bury it? Keep it? Strange, morbid thoughts fly at me from every hidden corner of the room. I know I can't let Rose see it. I put it back in the bag and shove it under the sink.

When I step under the spray of the hot water, my eyes close as I savor the massaging fingers of water that press heat and soothing relief to my sore skin and tired muscles.

My palms rest against the wall as the water pounds against my bowed neck. Rivulets of water stream in downward spirals around my head and cascade down the sides of my face.

The clawing darkness that I've been trying to keep subdued scratches feverishly at my insides, leaving deep open gashes.

I see the woman's face again. It's branded into my mind. Frantically, I memorize every detail as I let the pain engulf me.

* * *

**GCS: Glasgow Coma Scale**

**A/N: I'll update again soon. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm back! ;) As I mentioned in my CoL update, I took the summer off. I'm now back to writing full-time so you will be seeing a lot of updates from me. Here's what I've got planned. The next chappie of MD is almost done so I will be updating that story very soon. I will be working on both this story and MD simultaneously until they are complete. I'm also pre-writing another story on the side that I will begin posting as soon as that story is completely finished. And you will get daily updates on that one. Yay! So I will be doing lots and lots of writing, which I absolutely flove to do. You would be floored at how many stories I have floating around in the empty space where my brain should be…**

**My oh so lovely and beautiful friends provide me with so much support. My gorgeous and talented beta, LifeInkognito. And my pre-readers gjficfan, LFCPam, Micki Martini and Firedancer07. Thank you all so much.**

**SM owns Twilight.**

* * *

_**A STREET WITH NO END**_

_**CHAPTER 3**_

**EPOV**

My eyes open. It's dark. I'm disoriented for a moment before I realize I'm in my bedroom. I swallow and the soreness in my throat is excruciating. I start to take in a deep breath but stop and wince as a flash of pain radiates across my chest and shoots down my torso. The simple act of breathing hurts. I ache in places I didn't even know I could ache. I try not to grimace as I turn my head towards my alarm clock. It's a little after seven. I'm surprised that I managed to get a couple hours of sleep after everything that happened last night.

Once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I glance down at Rose who's snuggled up next to me, her left hand resting on my bicep. I reach my right hand across my body and cover hers with mine. The diamond that I put on her ring finger scratches lightly at my palm. As gently as I can, I attempt to untangle myself from her. I pause for a moment, waiting. With a muffled groan, she turns on her side. And within seconds, she's fast asleep again.

There's only one thing on my mind this morning: I need to get back to the hospital. To check on that woman. I frown as I replay those words over in my mind. _That woman. _I don't even know her name. I don't know the name of the person whose life I've possibly irrevocably changed forever. That bothers me. In a profound way. I vow to find out everything I possibly can about her.

Slowly and painfully, I crawl out of bed. Fumbling in the dark, I slip on some jeans and a shirt and tug on my shoes. When I get to the doorway, I pause. Slowly, I turn and look back at Rose. A feeling of remorse washes over me as I stare at her. I should have shared the details of the accident with her. She's my fiancée - Rose should have been the first person that I told. _Why didn't I talk to her?_ My brows pull together as I consider that question. I don't have an immediate answer. I know I was so mentally and physically fatigued after my shower last night that all I wanted to do was go straight to bed. But that's no excuse. I should have told her. I resolve to tell her everything tonight.

After quietly closing the bedroom door, I gingerly walk into the kitchen as each step hurts. I scribble Rose a note explaining that I had to go back to the hospital to check on the other person involved in the accident. After downing my antibiotic and some Tylenol, I grab an old brown leather coat from the closet. As I shrug it on, I realize I haven't thought through how I'm going to get to anywhere without my car. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat as I stand there and contemplate my options. And that's when I remember that I haven't even called my insurance company yet to report the accident. I make a mental note to do that as soon as I get to the hospital. And I figure I can arrange for a rental car as well. But until then…

My heart begins knocking around in my chest as I walk towards the door to the garage. My hand is shaking when I reach out to pluck a set of keys off the hook on the wall, and I'm practically out of breath.

Once I'm in the garage, with still-trembling hands, I pull the cover off of my Aston Martin Vanquish. I inherited the car several years ago when my grandfather died. It now sits under a cover year round. The car is horribly ostentatious. And not my taste whatsoever. But I never had the heart to sell it. My grandfather loved that car and used to take me for drives in it on Sunday afternoons. So the memories keep me tied to it.

The knocking in my chest gets more earnest as I reach for the door handle. I know what's happening. This is my body's way of trying to protect itself against the trauma it went through last night. Closing my eyes, I rub my chest as I take in several shallow breaths. I will my muscles to relax. After several moments with my eyes still shut, I quickly open the door and slip into the seat.

The leather of the steering wheel is cold and stiff under my fingertips. Every cell in my body orchestrates a shrilling protest to my actions. But I don't give into it. I open my eyes and with unsteady hands, I start the engine.

I drive way below the speed limit, hyperaware of my surroundings, alert and conscientious of the movement of every car around me. I take defensive driving to a whole other level. It takes me twice as long to get to the hospital. Not only because of my slow pace, but also because I can't go down that road. That road that I never want to drive down again. That road that will now forever be marred by the events from last night.

When I reach the hospital, I find that Jasper is in surgery. And Maggie won't be in for her shift until later. I stifle an internal groan when I see Dr. Stanley walking towards me. Jessica makes my skin crawl. Has since the first day I met her.

"_Edward._" The way she practically purrs my name makes me want to retch. It's completely inappropriate.

I clear my throat and struggle to hide my distaste for her. "Jessica."

Her fingers touch my arm. I resist the urge to snatch it away. Instead, I take a step back causing her hand to fall away. But she matches my movements and steps towards me. She's in my personal space, standing too close. Uncomfortably close. My jaw tightens as she eyes the bandage on my forehead. "I heard about the accident. Didn't you know I was working last night? You should've let me stitch you up. I would've done a much better job than Whitlock."

I can't even imagine letting her get that close to me. The thought makes me want to shudder. She's too close right now. "Jasper did a fine job. I was in quite capable hands." I take another step back. "If you'll excuse me…" I say as I start to walk around her.

"Make sure you get a look at the toxicology report on that woman. Bet she was on something. She was probably higher than a kite. I'm glad she got the worse end of it. Serves her right. I don't know what we'd do without you around here."

My eyes narrow. My body is a pile of dead branches soaked in kerosene, and her words are a flame thrower. My hands curl into fists as anger ignites and burns harshly throughout my body setting every inch aflame. It takes great effort to not wrap my hands around Jessica's neck and _make_ her retract those words. I know my reaction is irrational. There could be a shred of truth to her words. I know nothing about the woman from the accident. But when I think of her, when I recall her face, so beautiful and innocent, I can't believe that she is at fault in any way. I won't believe it. Until I'm presented with evidence to the contrary.

I glare at Jessica and grit my teeth, biting back the words that I want to shout at her. Somehow, I turn and stiffly walk away. She is not worth wasting my breath on.

"Good morning, Dr. Cullen."

Frowning, I look up and find that I'm at the nurse's station. I pull in a deep breath to try to extinguish my fury, but it causes me to wince. I rub my chest lightly. "Good morning," I reply with a small smile to Maria. She's one of the nurses that work the day shift.

She smiles brightly. "It's so good to see you. I heard about the accident. I'm so happy that you're okay. How's your head?"

"Thanks. It's good." My eyes quickly dart up and down the hallway. Thankfully, Jessica is nowhere to be seen. I lean across the desk closer to Maria. "Um, the woman that was brought in last night. That was in the accident. How is she?"

"Oh, you mean Isabella? She's stable but critical."

My heart stutters.

_Isabella. Her name is Isabella._

I repeat the name in my head several times, testing it, trying it out. It creates a strange sensation in my body. I don't understand why I'm so affected by her name. It's just a name. Maybe it's because she's no longer just _that woman. _She now has an identity.

"Isabella…?" I prompt, my eyebrows raised.

"Swan."

_Lovely._

"Has her family been contacted?" I ask.

"Yeah. The police called this morning. They were able to get in touch with someone; they didn't tell me who. But no one's shown up yet to visit that I know of."

My fingers grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. I lick my dry lips and swallow before I speak. "Do we know who the boy was?" My voice is shaky, barely above a whisper. I don't want an answer yet. I'm not ready to face this.

She gives me a sympathetic look. "Yeah," she says as she nods. "He was her younger brother."

_Her brother. I killed her brother. Her younger brother._

My heart thunders, trying to pound its way out of my chest. Breathing is difficult. There's a sick fearful feeling of trepidation stirring deep in the pit of my stomach.

It takes me a moment to pull myself together. "What room is she in?" I finally manage to ask. My voice sounds wrong. Different.

Maria rattles off the number. I nod and walk away, down the hallway towards her room.

I'm at her door. I don't open it. Instead, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I breathe in and out, in an effort to calm myself. It helps. Marginally. My heart gallops for some time before it finally slows to a trot. As I push the door open, my stomach flip-flops with a nervous tension. I walk towards her bed, my eyes fixated on her pale, battered face. I take note of the readings on the monitors and the ventilator that she's attached to before I pull up a chair close to her bed and sit.

The pale skin on her face is littered with tiny cuts and a spattering of black and blue bruising. The right side shows substantial swelling, and the skin from her cheek to her jaw is a dark purple. There's a bandage at the top of her forehead covering the cut in her hairline. She has a cast on her right wrist, and I can see the outline of a cast on her left leg under the covers. There's a standard feeding tube in her nose, and a ventilator is attached to her throat.

I still find her to be startlingly beautiful.

I'm perplexed. I shouldn't be having these thoughts about another woman. I shouldn't find someone else attractive. I know my thoughts are innocent, but still, I'm an engaged man. I should only have eyes for Rose. And yet here I sit, teetering on the edge of my chair so that I can get a closer look at her. I study the dusting of very light freckles that are tossed across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her face has a pleasant petite heart-shape to it. And although her lips are quite ashen and slightly chapped, I admire the shape of them. A soft bow.

Her hair looks thick and silky. Its dark mahogany color is enhanced by the backdrop of the white pillow framing it.

I watch her eyes dance behind her eyelids, her thick blackish lashes brushing against her skin. And I wonder what's going on behind them. Because she's in a coma. And there's still so much mystery surrounding comas. Where is she right now? Is she able to dream? Or is she just lost?

Lost in darkness.

Lost in a tranquil sea of nonexistence.

The morphine drips, numbing her pain. I'm thankful that she's not hurting, wherever she is.

As she drifts alone.

Alone and obscured in the nightfall of lightlessness.

Slipping off my jacket, I rest my elbows on my knees and watch her. I watch the movement of her chest as it is forced up and down by the ventilator that pumps oxygen into her lungs. I've not said a word since I entered the room. And because of my profession, I obviously know the benefits of talking to coma patients. I _want_ to talk to her. At least say something. But I don't. My guilt stops me. So, I just sit quietly. And stare.

My phone rings and I startle, practically falling out of my chair. It's Rose.

"Hey," I answer and immediately cough, trying to clear my raspy throat.

"You sound awful. You're sick, Edward. You should be at home in bed. And you were in an accident. Why couldn't you have just called the hospital to check on that other person and stayed home?"

I'm feeling more regret over the information that I've withheld from her. I stare at Isabella. "I just couldn't. I have some things I need to talk to you about this evening-"

"This _evening_? When were you planning on coming home?"

I frown as my fingers dig into the tight muscles on the back of my neck. How do I answer that? What exactly _are_ my plans? I don't know. But I know I can't leave. I can't leave Isabella here all alone. I need to stay with her until her family or friends or someone shows up to be with her.

"Edward?"

"Uh, yeah. I just thought that we could talk when you get home from work…"

"I already called into work. Last night. Don't you remember?"

I don't remember. My head was somewhere else last night. "Well, there's no need for you to stay home now. You can still go in."

She huffs loudly.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing." The word is spoken curtly and has a harsh edge to it.

"I just didn't want you to have to take off work today."

"Well, I _did_ take off work because I wanted to stay home and take care of you. I've missed you and I'm tired of not seeing you."

The door to Isabella's room opens, and I look up to see Maria bustling in. "Oh. You're still here. Oops," she adds, making an apologetic face when she sees me on the phone.

"It's okay," I whisper to her.

"Well, I need to go, Edward," Rose says. "I guess I'm _off to work_," she quips sarcastically.

I stand and push the chair back, allowing Maria room to take Isabella's vitals. "Wait. I need to say something," I say to Rose as I exit the room and close the door behind me. The hallway is deserted. I lean my back against the wall and sigh.

"Don't be mad. I know I've not been around much lately, but I've really missed you too. And I'm sorry that I left this morning like I did, but I had to. I'll explain everything tonight, okay? I promise."

She's quiet for a long moment. "All right," she finally says.

I blow out a breath. "Okay. Good." We talk for a few more minutes, and she decides to go into work after all. We say our goodbyes and hang up.

As I wait for Maria to finish, I make a quick call to my insurance agent to report the accident. I'm still on the phone when Maria comes out. She smiles at me; I give her a quick nod and slip back into Isabella's room. I pull the chair close to her bed again and sit down.

Once I'm finished with the call, I frown as I look down at my watch. I don't understand why her family hasn't shown up yet. Wouldn't they rush here as soon as they got the news?

Leaning forward, I tent my fingers as I continue to stare at her as question after question somersaults through my mind. _Does she work? How old is she? She looks awfully young. Is she a student? Does she have a boyfriend? _

I remember that delicate heart necklace around her neck.

_Wouldn't he be here as soon as he found out the news? Where are her parents?_

I look at her small hand. I want to touch it, comfort her. But I don't. I clear my throat. I'm nervous. "Isabella?" I whisper. "I'm Edward Cullen. You were in an accident. You're in the hospital. I…"

I stare at her unsure of what to say next. Words seem so inadequate. They _are_ inadequate. But I keep it simple. I give her my truth. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I'm so, so sorry." I continue to whisper the words over and over again, wishing so hard that she could hear me. Wondering if there will ever be a time when she'll be able to hear my repentant words.

Laying my head back, I close my eyes as I rub my temples. It's difficult, but I make an effort to clear my thoughts. And relax. And the next thing I know, I hear the sound of the door being flung open. I jerk violently, my eyes snapping open. I must have dozed off.

My first reaction is to stand as I watch an older man, maybe in his mid-fifties, race into the room. He's out of breath. His dark eyes are wild, panicked, bloodshot.

I step back, pushing the chair with my legs to make room for him. He rushes past me and is instantly beside the bed, reaching for Isabella's hand. He cradles it in both of his before pressing it to his cheek, closing his eyes. "Bella," I hear him murmur, "oh God, Bella," before he lets out one of the most gut-wrenching sobs I have ever heard.

I don't know who this man is. Although I know he has to be family because the resemblance to Isabella - I mean Bella - is striking. I know I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be watching this man break down like this. I shouldn't be watching him grieve. But I can't stop myself. I want to feel this man's pain. I need it. I need to remember this. As punishment.

The man weeps, heavy sobs, his shoulders shaking. His tears drip down onto Bella.

I don't know how long I stand there, unable to move. Frozen, as I watch this man crack and shatter into a million pieces in front of me. I'm blasted with waves of pain and guilt and grief. It rockets through my body, leaving me with a hollowed-out feeling.

When the man begins sniffling, I finally move. I pick up a box of Kleenex and silently offer him one. His eyes stay downcast as he reaches his hand out. He gently sets Bella's hand down and wipes his eyes and nose. I leave the box on the bed for him.

Eventually, his swelled, red eyes look up at me. There's only one way to explain his expression. Absolutely grief-stricken. He clears his throat and asks me one question. One question that I have no idea how to answer.

"_Who are you?"_

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**A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So much love and thanks to my beta LifeInkognito and my pre-readers gjficfan, Lfcpam, Micki Martini, and Firedancer07.**

**SM owns Twilight.**

* * *

_**A STREET WITH NO END**_

**CHAPTER 4**

"_Who are you?"_

The question echoes around me. Through me. It's straightforward. Yet so complex. It holds power in its simplicity.

As I stand in front of this fragmented man, I don't know how to respond. I have a split second to answer a question that needs to be thought through. Analyzed. Because how I answer this simple question can shred this man even more than he already is. Reduce him to a pile of ash.

"Well?" he prompts, as a flash of annoyance crosses his exhausted, anguish-ridden face. I have to make a decision. Right now. I'm out of time.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm Dr. Cullen. Edward Cullen. I work here at the hospital." My hand extends towards him.

His furrowed brow relaxes. He nods once in acknowledgment. But as his hand reaches towards mine, I see his eyes drop to my clothing. Inspecting it. His brow furrows again.

"I'm off today, but I was working here yesterday," I say in quick explanation as I grip his hand.

"Oh," he says as his shoulders straighten and I see him work to put the pieces together. "Oh," he repeats again. But the word is spoken with different inflection. It carries understanding. "Thank you," he breathes. His voice is so sincere. Earnest. Heartfelt.

My body bristles. This is wrong. Very wrong.

His gratitude cuts me.

Filets me. And leaves me bleeding.

And I instantly regret my words. I didn't lie. Everything I said held truth. But I omitted the most important element. And I cannot accept what this man offers. I cannot stand here and watch his face as he looks at me like I'm a savior. Like I did something heroic for this woman that he obviously loves so deeply.

"I'm Charlie. Charlie Swan. I'm Bella's dad."

I'm hemorrhaging as the cut opens wider. Deepens. The pain twists, bending at an unnatural angle.

"_I was driving the other car."_

"_I am to blame."_

"_I caused her injuries."_

"_I… I killed your son."_

The words prepare themselves and rest gently on the tip of my tongue, waiting. Ready to be grasped by me and spoken. My mind practices them in anticipation. But I grapple with myself. I want so desperately to speak those words. But something stops me. Holds me back. I can't say them yet. So they remain there, on my tongue. Patiently silent and still waiting.

"Is she gonna be okay?" he asks as he steps closer to me. "I talked to the nurse out there, but she didn't have much information. She said the doc would be in later. Is she gonna wake up? When is she gonna wake up?" Desperation leaks through his vocal chords as his voice breaks on the last word. His knees buckle and I lunge for him, grabbing him by the arm, holding the weight of his body with my own. I help him down into the chair that I was previously sitting in and kneel beside him.

"Are you okay?" I ask as I carefully look him over, trying to decide if I should go get whoever is on call at the moment to take a look at him.

"Yeah," he mumbles with his head down as he scrubs at his eyes and sniffs.

"Do you have any medical conditions?"

He shakes his head.

"Are you lightheaded? Feeling any dizziness? Weakness?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and clears his throat. "No. No, I'm fine," he says, his voice gruff. His eyes stay averted.

"Do you want something to drink? When was the last time you ate?"

He looks up at me, frowning. "Uh…" he hesitates, scratching his chin.

"I'll go get you something, okay? I'll be right back."

He nods. I step out of the room and make my way down the hallway. I grab him some crackers and a Sprite and slip back into the room.

"Here. Try this," I say as I hand it to him. He mumbles his thanks, and I sit down next to him.

He eats. I watch Bella. The silence in the room is comfortable.

"It's been a rough morning," he finally says, breaking the quiet. Our eyes meet for a moment before he looks back down at the can of Sprite he's holding. "I…" he begins before he stops and clears his throat. "My son… he was also in the accident. I…" His upper lip, covered in a thick moustache begins quivering. I lean forward in my chair and stare down at my hands to give him a moment.

There's silence again. But it's not comfortable this time. It's thick and I can practically feel its presence leaning heavily on my shoulders.

"I had to go, this morning, and…" he continues. I keep my eyes on my hands; there's a bulky uncomfortable constricting sensation developing in my throat that won't go away. I'm weakening. And about to disintegrate. Because he doesn't have to speak the words. I know what they are.

His voice is a whisper, thick and heavily laden with emotion. "… identify the b-body," he stutters, stumbling on the last word before he falls apart.

The emotion that bubbles up inside of me turns into an angry stormy ocean of white-capped waves. The current pulls me under and I'm drowning. My throat squeezes shut as I work furiously to not break down and weep with this man beside me. It's impossible for me to speak so I grab the Kleenex box and hand it to him. Then I lay my hand on his shoulder and grip it. I blink the moisture from my eyes and try to focus on a spot on the wall to distract myself.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he shakes his head and uses a couple of the Kleenex. My throat is too tight to allow me to speak so I squeeze his shoulder gently before I sit back down.

I watch Bella. The silence is comfortable again. Bit by bit the painful compressing sensation in my throat loosens. I glance at Charlie. He's leaning forward, hunched over the Kleenex box, a tissue grasped in his hands as he stares at Bella. His cheeks are wet.

I cough a couple of times and clear my throat, trying to relax my tight muscles so that I can speak. "Do you have any family or friends that we could call? That could come be here with you?" I ask, my voice gentle.

His red-rimmed eyes meet mine. "No. Everyone's out in Washington. We just moved here. Recently."

And that explains a lot. Answers so many questions I had.

He has no one.

I don't know what to say so I just sit. And think. And consider what this means for this man. How he's going to have to shoulder all of this on his own. How he's going to have to bury his son…

_Will he bury him in Washington? Or Chicago?_

_Does he have money for burial expenses?_

It doesn't matter if he has the money or not, I'm going to pay for it. I'll get with the hospital and have them set up a fund for the family. That way it can be anonymous.

Charlie interrupts my thoughts by barking out a non-humorous laugh. I look at him.

"Do you know why this happened?" His voice is angry as he waves his hand towards Bella. "Do you know why she's laying there like that? Because of popsicles. A box of damn popsicles."

I frown. I have no idea what he is ranting about. "Popsicles?" I repeat.

He stands up, pulling his chair next to Bella and picks up her hand. His focus is on her as he begins speaking. "She texted me last night. While I was at work. Seth woke up and wanted a popsicle. We were out of them. He died because of a popsicle."

I'm vaguely aware of a sob coming from him as the walls of the room begin to close in on me, threatening to crush me. My stomach lurches as my heart plummets, falling, spiraling downward. I have to get out of here. I can't breathe. I'm gonna be sick.

The door opens and Mike walks in. Dr. Newton. I stand, desperate to run.

Mike's face shows a flash of confusion. "Hey, Edward," he says.

Mike's a great guy and doctor, but I don't even acknowledge him. Because I have to leave. "I'll be back," I mutter in a choked voice to Charlie.

"You can stay," he offers. There's a wisp of hopefulness in his tone as he wipes his eyes with a tissue.

"Phone call." I can barely get the words out over the rushing sounds of my heart.

I don't wait for him to respond. I race towards the door past Mike as I begin to gulp for air. Stumbling slightly in the hallway, I bolt for the restroom. Once inside, my hand trembles as I lock the door then slide down the wall, my knees to my chest as everything inside of me crumbles. Topples to the ground. A sob tears from my chest as every emotion that I've been trying to keep harnessed in front of Charlie, wrestles away from my grasp and breaks free.

I sob for that disabled boy that died because of a popsicle.

I cry for that lovely woman who lays in a coma.

And I weep for that broken man in the other room who has lost everything.

Slowly, I stand and try to get myself put back together. The water is cool on my warm face as I splash some on it, making sure not to touch the bandage on my forehead and try to slick my hair down a bit. I stare at my reflection as I dry my face with some paper towels. I'm a mess. At least I look how I feel.

Cracking the door, I look down the hallway because I don't want anyone to see me like this and ask questions. I see Maria so I close the door and wait. I pull out my phone. I haven't heard from Rose, which is unusual, so I type out a text to her.

_**How's work? I miss you. –E**_

Within moments, I get a response.

_**A bitch, as usual. I'm leaving early. –R**_

_**Want me to pick up dinner? –E**_

_**Yeah. Get those sandwiches from the deli. I'll be home in an hour –R**_

_**K –E**_

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I check the hallway again. It's empty so I slip out and walk back to Bella's room. I tap lightly on the closed door.

"Come in," I hear Charlie's voice say.

I open the door. He's still at Bella's side, holding her hand. We lock eyes for a moment before I look down and make my way to the chair beside him.

We sit quietly. I watch Bella's face, watch her eyelids flutter. After a while, he clears his throat and looks at me. "A neurologist is supposed to come by."

I nod at him. He nods and looks back at Bella.

Rose will be home soon so I'm going to have to leave. But I don't want to. I have no desire to go. I don't want to leave Charlie here alone. But I have no choice.

"Uh, I'm going to have to leave. I need to get home."

He lays Bella's hand down gently and stands. I match his movements and grab my coat, slipping it on. "Thanks for staying with me. You didn't have to do that. I really appreciate it," he says as he holds his hand out.

I give him a small smile as I shake his hand. "I'll come back and check on you two. I have tomorrow off, but I'll be back on the night shift the day after."

He gives me a small smile. And I leave the room.

I'm exhausted by the time I get home. Rose and I sit on the couch, eating our sandwiches as she tells me about her day at work. I'm cleaning up the wrappers when she asks, "So, what were you wanting to talk to me about?" She stretches out, sneaking her feet under my arm and into my lap. I toss the wrappers in the bag, leaving it on the coffee table and scoot back, my hands settling on her feet.

"It's about the accident," I start, feeling a nervous uneasiness hovering over me as I stare at her.

"_Okay_…"

I drag in a deep breath, turning my head away from her so I can keep my eyes somewhere else. They end up on the flat-screen. "When I left the hospital, I wasn't feeling well. I remember being so tired… I actually dozed off once, but caught myself."

I look at her. She sits up, tucking her feet underneath her. I look back at the flat-screen. "The next thing I remember is waking up to an airbag in my face. There was a truck overturned. When I got to them, there was a younger man in the passenger seat. I checked his pulse and…" I look at her again and she's watching my face so closely. So intently. I swallow then shake my head slightly. Her face pales, her eyes widen as a startled gasp escapes her lips. She covers her mouth with both hands.

My gaze drops to the coffee table. "I was able to get the woman out of the driver's side. She was alive but in bad shape. I had to perform a tracheotomy at the scene."

When I glance at her again, her eyes are huge, her chest is heaving as she continues to stare at me. I drop my gaze back to the coffee table as I let her absorb my words for a moment.

I clear my throat. "When I talked to the police at the hospital, they told me there would be an investigation into the accident. But it could take months… before we know exactly what happened."

She grabs my hand. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know," I say as I entwine my fingers with hers.

She leans closer to me. "Do you… Did you fall asleep?" she whispers.

I bite the inside of my jaw as my eyes study her face for a moment before I slowly nod, dropping my eyes again.

She releases my hand, and she's quiet for the longest time. I can see her out of my peripheral vision - she's staring off to the side as if deep in thought. She turns toward me and finally speaks. "Why didn't you tell me anything about this last night?" she asks. And it's the question I still don't have an answer for.

"I was really tired-"

"I can't believe you didn't talk to me about this. You couldn't have stayed around here long enough this morning to tell me? You didn't think this was important enough?"

She's absolutely right. "I don't know. I should have told you."

"That's right, you should have damn well told me. Do you know how serious this is? Goddamn it, Edward! You could get sent to jail for this, do you know that? Have you called an attorney?"

I shake my head.

She jumps off the couch. "I'm calling daddy. He'll know what to do."

I stalk after her. "I don't want you calling him. This is none of his business. This is _my_ business."

She whirls around, her face livid. "We are engaged so that makes it _my _business as well. And I'm not going to sit by and let someone take my husband away from me." She turns and snatches her phone off the counter.

"_Don't._" My tone stops her dead in her tracks.

She stares at me, her eyes narrowing. "What is wrong with you? Why won't you call an attorney? Do you _want_ to go to jail?" Her last question isn't meant to be a question at all. It's meant to be a threat.

But I have an answer.

And I know she sees it.

It's there, in my eyes. The answer that I want to lay hidden away in the shadows.

"I can't deal with this," she mumbles as she grabs her bag. "I'll be back later." And within moments, the door slams behind her. I let her leave. I don't go after her. I don't stop her.

Wearily, I sink down onto the couch. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and sigh. Rose just needs time to cool off. She's angry at me as she should be. But I know she reacted like that because she's hurt. Hurt that I didn't talk to her. And I take full responsibility for that. I was wrong. I should have stayed this morning and done exactly that. And I'm angry with myself that I didn't.

Rose loves me, and I know she's scared. Of course she doesn't want to see me go to jail. And for a moment, I wonder if she sees my not retaining a lawyer as a selfish act. Because it's not, in my eyes. If I'm at fault and there is any punishment involved, I will take it. Without question.

Charlie crosses my mind. And I realize that I'm doing the same thing to him that I did to Rose. Keeping information from him. I'm doing it all over again. And I don't know why.

I'm going to make this right before it's too late.

I drive back to the hospital. It's dark outside, which makes it that much more difficult on me. But I somehow get through it.

As I take the stairs, I think about what I'm going to say. But I give up when I realize there isn't going to be any easy way to do this. I'm just going to have to say what comes to my mind. Keep it real. Keep it honest.

Tapping lightly on Bella's door again, I open it. Charlie's in the same spot, next to Bella. Our eyes meet, and he doesn't move. I don't sit down beside him. Instead, I move to the other side of Bella's bed opposite him. I shove my hands into my coat pockets and clear my throat. His dark eyes watch me, carefully.

I pull in a deep breath. "I have something I need to tell you."

He stares at me, his face void of any expression. It's as if I've not uttered a word because he doesn't acknowledge me in any way. His eyes move to the bandage on my forehead, then back to my eyes. I frown, unsure of what to make of it when he speaks, saying another small sentence consisting of three tiny words that rattles me to my core.

"_I already know."_

* * *

**A/N: Edward's got a mess on his hands, doesn't he? And poor Charlie. *sob* So how did he find out that Edward was in the accident?**

**Please review? Your words inspire me. ;)**


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